


It’s mostly how they look at me, he says, (when I’m with you.)

by WeAreTomorrow



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Broken Narrative, Experimental, F/M, M/M, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreTomorrow/pseuds/WeAreTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning: highly experimental</p><p>He exhales in smoke rings. (That’s not all you took.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I haven’t eaten in days_ , he says.

 

 _I can’t get over her_ , he says, _I miss you_ (redundancy).

 

Walking through the castle ruins, wastelands, this was a dragon liar, this was a prison tower, this was paradise/hell/hell. Inner-circle secrets, sharp teeth ripping open the inside of his mouth when he moans, sleeping. His mother wore white like a virgin, like an angel. All his angels are dead, wings broken.

 

Bare feet on pavement; bare feet on dead grass.

 

He sets the trailer on fire and regrets it later. The hair is somewhere tucked in a drawer, in a plastic bag besides a mixtape she made him once, over the summer. She had wings like fingers when they brushed his face; (he raped her.) She had a porcelain doll body and she is too tight around him, but doesn’t break; (he raped her.) Insomnia is like being comatose, facts are insubstantial and events fast-forward/rewind between checkpoints, ignoring the clock. (rapedher/rapedher/rapedher)

 

His uncle sleeps in the largest bedroom, drowning in sheets.

 

The bloodstain on his upper lip might be permanent; he spends a lot of time looking for his sister in mirrors. Her voice is beautiful—he can’t match it up with the key board monotone he’s grown up with; she is happier now. It hurts. He misses her old voice, this is terribly selfish.

 

(Are you happier, yet?)

 

 _Get somewhere clean_ , he thinks but he is not a warrior and the boundaries of his paradise are sharp in his mind, uncrossable. He is not a warrior. He is still testing the realities of his body, what/why/how is he? His new teeth make his lips bigger. One day, he files them into order, into the proper shape. It hurts like cutting off fingers but what are his fingers for anymore, now that they're empty?

 

He still looks broken in the mirror, full of absences, starving, missing essential parts.

 

 _I miss you_ , he thinks. I'm dying.


	2. shaken, stirred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: highly experimental
> 
>  

_—the way other people look at you_ , he says with eyes like Magic-8-Balls, full of answers, if you shake hard enough, _when you’re with me_.

 

He walks away and you smile, up to your wrists in pocket like a child hiding his hands after raiding the cookie jar.

 

Math class or English or something: he licks his teeth when he’s thinking; your note re-crumbles in his hands and his tongue traces front teeth to molars until it disappears back inside his mouth. You are waiting for the corner of his lips to produce dimples like simple machines. Input equals output; but there is always energy lost in the process, heat sacrifice.

 

You are expecting a yes/no answer. You are expecting negatives.

 

He turns his head, whispers. (exhibitionist)

 

You laugh, laugh, choke the sound in your fist not because of the scandalized looks (it is less then half the reason; it’s still a reason) but because this joke belongs to you and nobody else can touch the edges. Possessive, check here, much too jealous for exhibition, for sharing.

 

The note is tucked inside his jacket, against the skin maybe, you don’t ask.

 

Skin that splits like plastic wrap, dead meat on the ground, steaming. He licks it up (you wonder what he tastes like) and the snake eats its own tail, you mean, the wolf. It’s not a wolf, its got his Eight-Ball eyes.

 

Shaken, stirred: ask again later.

 

(Well, you have time.)


End file.
